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Our Nation must defend the sanctity of marriage.

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That is why I fought against abortion and that is why if I were still in the Senate I would be doing everything I could to defend the sanctity of marriage.

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Pope – Jesus Christ’s the Only Hope

A Poetic Excerpt (I) from his speech to US Bishops

For modern world, the only hope is Christ –
The soul of man needs God for sustenance;
One’s loyalty to Holy See is prime;
Let Catholics strengthen bonds with Peter’s See.

America is great a nation sure;
The US Catholics fervently do pray;
Let me commend all believers to God;
Let’s thank God for the gift of grace to Church.

Let world’s largest community today –
The Catholics shine their light to all around,
And spread the Gospel to all fellow-men;
Let them too see your work and thank the Lord.

Welcome all immigrants to join your fold,
And share their joys and sorrows and trials;
Support the poor and needy as usual;
You’re well known for your generosity!

American aid for all disasters,
Within the country and that globally,
Is ample proof of generous a heart:
That needs thanksgiving to the Almighty!

This country is a land of strong a faith;
They worship God with fervor and great pride;
Their arguments are based on Bible truths;
You are a witness to Lord Jesus Christ.

I exhort you, brother bishops to sow
The seeds of Gospel in this fertile soil,
And help the Vine of Hope in Christ grow well,
And lead souls to encounter living God.

Let your beliefs and teachings of the church
Be practiced in your professional lives;
Let’s not exploit the poor and downtrodden;
Let sex be sacred and per moral thought.

Let’s safe-guard right to life until one’s death;
Let faith permeate every Catholic’s life;
Let affluence not hamper thirst for God,
Nor block the progression of soul to Him.

Let’s not forget our ultimate life’s aim;
Let’s drink from wells of God’s infinite love;
Let’s not believe in science and own efforts;
Our lives are empty if not God-centered.

Let’s cultivate our bonds with Jesus Christ;
The goal of all our work is only this;
Our cultural roots shouldn’t make us anti-God;
It should promote our faith in Almighty.

Faith must be founded on a basis sound;
Encounter God through Savior Jesus Christ.

While medical advances offer hope
Anew, it raises Ethical questions;
Health-care Providers need your counseling
To keep Christ in their every endeavor.

Free speech must solve today’s moral questions;
The Gospel must be spread throughout the world;
Let Catholic views guide all moral queries;
Open all minds and hearts to moral truths.

Let laity act as ‘leaven’ for masses,
In unison with Catholic Church’s teachings;
Ensure morality in clergy too;
A healthy family and home brings peace.

Enhance the virtues in the family
-Love, mutual help, forgiveness and concern;
The family is the basis of the Church;
Divorce, infidelity have increased.

The sanctity of marriage bond is less;
A civil bond seems coming up so fast;
Catholic marriages are on the wane,
While cohabitation is on the spate;

Denied are children, moral up-bringing;
The bishop forms the pastoral Care-taker;
The ‘Yes’ to ‘pro-life’, love must resonate
In families, while yearning for the Lord.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-18-2008

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Our Nation

Look at our Nation,
Defiled by discrimination,
Making a separation,
Between the present generation;

The younger generation,
Must take into consideration,
And give some useful information,
Using their modulus calculation;

To remove the obstruction,
Caused by the politician,
without any co-operation,
among the people of our Nation

Now, oncoming revolution,
Will provide a path of salvation,
For our Indian Nation,
To which I pay my ovation.

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Sonnet: Marriage

Tho’ marriage is a gamble, we must take;
Some blissful moments it gives which look great;
Two horses pulling cart- ’tis worth the stake,
Than facing singly, life’s perilous bait.

Great care, we’ve got to exercise in choice;
The human being needs someone to talk;
And when some children come, there will be noise;
Sorrows and joys, life has; ’tis no cake-walk!

The sanctity of marriage is but true:
By which, we serve to procreate God’s way;
A ship at sea in stormy times needs crew;
And surely, we can pass His Judgment Day.
To keep our race going, we must marry;
So, God made Eve and made her to carry!
11-8-2000 Copyright by Dr John Celes

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The Athenaid: Volume I: Book the Tenth

Now is the season, when Vertumnus leads
Pomona's glowing charms through ripen'd groves
Of ruddy fruitage; now the loaden vine
Invites the gath'ring hand, which treasures joy
For hoary winter in his turn to smile.
An eastern course before autumnal gales
To Ephesus the Carian gallies bend;
While Medon coasts by Locris, and deplores
Her state of thraldom. Thrice Aurora shews
Her placid face; devourer of mankind,
The sea, curls lightly in fallacious calms;
To Medon then the wary master thus:

My chief, the dang'rous equinox is near
Whose stormy breath each prudent sailor shuns,
Secure in harbour; turbulent these streights
Between Euboea and the Locrian shore;
Fate lurks in eddies, threatens from the rocks;
The continent is hostile; we must stretch
Across the passage to Euboea's isle,
There wait in safety till the season rude
Its wonted violence hath spent. The chief
Replies: An island, Atalanté nam'd,
Possess'd by Locrians, rises in thy view;
There first thy shelter seek; perhaps the foe
Hath left that fragment of my native state
Yet undestroy'd. Th' obedient rudder guides,
The oars impel the well directed keel
Safe through an inlet op'ning to a cove
Fenc'd round by rising land. At once the sight,
Caught by a lucid aperture of rock,
Strays up the island; whence a living stream,
Profuse and swift beneath a native arch,
Repels encumb'ring sands. A slender skiff,
Launch'd from the ship, pervades the sounding vault;
With his companions Medon bounds ashore,
Addressing Timon: Delphian guest, these steps,
Rude hewn, attain the summit of this rock;
Thence o'er the island may our wary ken,
By some sure sign, discover if we tread
A friendly soil, or hostile. They ascend.
The topmost peak was chisell'd to display
Marine Palæmon, colossean form,
In art not specious. Melicertes once,
Him Ino, flying from th' infuriate sword
Of Athamas her husband, down a cliff,
Distracted mother, with herself immers'd
In ocean's salt-abyss. Their mortal state
Neptunian pity to immortal chang'd;
From Ino she became Leucothea, chief
Among the nymphs of Tethys; he that god
Benign, presiding o'er the tranquil port,
Palæmon, yielding refuge to the toils
Of mariners sea-worn. One mighty palm
Lean'd on a rudder, high the other held
A globe of light, far shooting through the dark,
In rays auspicious to nocturnal keels
Which plough the vex'd Euripus. Fair below,
Her cap of verdure Atalanté spreads,
Small as a region, as a pasture large,
In gentle hollows vary'd, gentle swells,
All intersected by unnumber'd tufts
Of trees fruit-laden. Bord'ring on the streights,
Rich Locris, wide Boeotia, lift their woods,
Their hills by Ceres lov'd, and cities fam'd;
Here Opus, there Tanagra; Delium shews
Her proud Phoebean edifice, her port
Capacious Aulis, whence a thousand barks
With Agamemnon sail'd; a lengthen'd range
Euboea's rival opulence oppos'd,
Queen of that frith; superb the structures rise
Of Oreus, Chalcis, and the ruins vast
Of sad Eretria, by Darius crush'd.

The Locrian chief salutes the figur'd god:
Still dost thou stand, Palæmon, to proclaim
Oïlean hospitality of old,
Which carv'd thee here conspicuous, to befriend
The sailor night-perplex'd? Thou only sign
Left of Oïlean greatness! wrapp'd in woe
Is that distinguish'd house! Barbarians fill
Her inmost chambers! O propitious god!
If yet some remnant of the Locrian state
Thou dost protect on Atalanté's shore,
Before I leave her shall thy image smoke
With fattest victims! Timon quick subjoins:

I see no hostile traces; numerous hinds
Along the meadows tend their flocks and herds;
Let us, descending, and the crested helm,
The spear, and shield, committing to our train,
In peaceful guise salute a peaceful land.

They hear, approving; lightly back they speed;
Disarm'd, they follow an inviting path,
Which cuts a shelving green. In sportive laugh,
Before the threshold of a dwelling nigh,
Appear young children; quickning then his pace,
O Haliartus, Medon cries, I see
My brother's offspring! They their uncle knew,
Around him flock'd, announcing his approach
In screams of joy: Their sire, Leonteus, came.

As Leda's mortal son in Pluto's vale
Receiv'd his brother Pollux, who, from Jove
Deriv'd, immortal, left the realms of day,
And half his own divinity resign'd,
His dear-lov'd Castor to redeem from death;
So rush'd Leonteus into Medon's arms,
Thus utt'ring loud his transport: Dost thou come
To me and these a saviour! When that cloud
Of dire invasion overcast our land,
For sev'n defenceless insants what remain'd?
What for a tender mother? Instant flight
Preserv'd us; still we unmolested breathe
In Atalanté; others like ourselves
Resorted hither; barren winter soon
Will blast the scanty produce of this isle,
Pale famine waste our numbers; or, by want
Compell'd, this precious remnant of thy friends,
These rising pillars of th' Oïlean house
Must yield to Xerxes-but the gods have sent
In thee a guardian. Summon all our friends,
Elated Medon answers; ev'ry want
Shall be supply'd, their valour in return
Is all I claim. Meantime, like watchful bees
To guard th' invaded hive, from ev'ry part
The Islanders assemble; but the name
Of Medon, once divulg'd, suppresses fear,
And wond'ring gladness to his presence brings
Their numbers. He, rememb'ring such a scene
Late in Calauria, where afflicted throngs
Around his righteous friend of Athens press'd;
Now in that tender circumstance himself
Among his Locrians, conscious too of means
To mitigate their suff'rings, melts in tears
Of joy. O countrymen belov'd! he cries,
I now applaud my forecast, which secur'd
The whole Oïlean treasures; safe they lie
At Lacedæmon, whence expect relief
In full abundance on your wants to flow.
Amid his country's ruins Medon still
May bless the gods; by your auspicious aid,
Beyond my hopes discover'd, I may bring
No feeble standard to the Grecian camp,
When Athens, now triumphant o'er the waves,
With her deep phalanx in the field completes
The overthrow of Asia, and restores
Dejected Locris. So to Israel's sons,
Their little ones and wives, by deathful thirst
Amid the parching wilderness oppress'd,
Their legislator, with his lifted rod,
Consoling spake, who, Heav'n intrusted, knew
One stroke would open watry veins of rock,
And preservation from a flinty bed
Draw copious down. Leonteus lead the way,
Resum'd his brother: vers'd in arms, my youth,
My prime, are strangers to the nuptial tie;
Yet, in thy bliss delighting, I would greet
A sister, auth'ress of this blooming troop.

With all the clust'ring children at his side
He pass'd the threshold, and their mother hail'd.

Now o'er their heads the equinoctial gusts
Begin to chace the clouds; by tempests torn,
The hoarse Euripus sends a distant sound.
Twelve days are spent in sweet domestic joy;
Serenity returns. The master warns;
Departing Medon reascends the bark,
Whose rudder stems the celebrated frith,
Where twice sev'n times the sun and stars behold
Reciprocating floods. Three days are pass'd
When Sunium, Attic promontory, shades
The resting sail; Belbina thence they seek
By morn's new glance, and reach at dewy eve.
Athenian too Belbina yields a port
To night-o'ertaken sailors in their course
Between Cecropia and Troezene's walls.
A squadron there is moor'd; Cleander there,
Now ev'ry public duty well discharg'd
Dismiss'd him glorious to his native roof,
Was disembark'd. Contemplating in thought
His Ariphilia, for the day's return
He languish'd; ev'ry Nereid he invok'd
To speed his keel. Him Medon, landing, greets;
To whom Cleander: On Calauria first
We interchang'd embraces; now accept
A salutation doubly warm, O chief!
By Aristides pris'd, his second bold
In high exploits, which signalize an isle
Obscure before, Psyttalia; be my guest
This night at least: He said; they pass'd aboard
With Haliartus and the Delphian seer.
A gen'rous meal concluded, Medon spake:

Troezenian chief, now give the mind repast;
I have been absent long; when first the flight
Of Asia's host and shatter'd fleet was known,
From Salamis I hoisted sail. To hear
Of Aristides and the laurell'd son
Of Neocles, to hear of all the brave,
Whose high achievements consecrate that day,
From thy narration would delight my soul.

Cleander then began: To council call'd
By Eurybiades, the leading Greeks
A while debated, if their fleet combin'd
Should sail to break the Hellespontine bridge?
This he oppos'd; I readily had join'd
Th' Athenian people, eager by themselves
Without auxiliar Grecians, to pursue
The arrogant invader; but the tribes,
In form assembled, with dissuasive words,
Themistocles thus cool'd. I oft have seen,
Have oftner heard, that vanquish'd men, constrain'd
By desperation, have their loss repair'd
In fight renew'd. Repelling such a cloud
Of enemies from Greece, contented rest;
The pow'r of gods and heroes, not our own,
Achiev'd the deed; pursue not those who fly.
Resort to Athens; in their old abodes
Replace your women, such obsequious wives,
Such daughters; reinstate your native walls,
Rebuild your ruin'd mansions; sow your fields,
Prevent a dearth; by early spring unfurl
Your active sails, then shake the eastern shores.
He last propos'd, that exiles be recall'd.

Loud acclamations rose; the honour'd name
Of Aristides thunder'd on the beach.

O wise Athenians! Medon cordial here:
O happy man, whose happiness is plac'd
In virtuous actions! happiest now a scope
Is giv'n unbounded to thy hand and heart!
Proceed Cleander. He his tale renews:

Th' Athenians launch their gallies, all embark
With Aristides, chosen to that charge.
I set my ready canvass to perform
The last kind office, from Calauria's isle
And Troezen's walls to wast their wives and race,
Left in our trust. Meantime the diff'rent chiefs
Meet on the isthmus, summon'd to decide
Who best had serv'd the public, who might claim
The highest honours. Every leader names
Himseif the first, but all concurrent own
Themistocles the second. Envy still
Prevails; without decision they disperse,
Each to his home. Themistocles incens'd,
In eager quest of honours justly due,
Withheld unjustly, not to Athens bends
His hast'ning step, but Sparta…Medon here:
Not so would Aristides-but forgive
My interrupting voice. The youth pursues:

In Athens him I join'd, a people found,
Whom fortune never by her frown depress'd,
Nor satisfied with favour. Active all,
Laborious, cheerful, they persist in toil,
To heave the hills of ruin from their streets,
Without repining at their present loss,
Intent on future greatness, to be rais'd
On persevering fortitude: The word
Of Aristides guides. Amidst a scene
Of desolation, decency provides
The fun'ral pomp for those illustrious slain
At Salamis; th' insculptur'd tomb I saw
Preparing; they already have ordain'd
A distant day to solemnize the rites;
The mouth of Aristides they decree
To celebrate the valiant, who have died
For Athens. While Themistocles accepts
A foreign praise in Sparta, olive crowns,
A car selected from the public store,
A guard, three hundred citizens high-rank'd,
Him through their tracts are chosen to attend,
Excess of rev'rence, by that rigid state
Ne'er shewn before. To small Troezene's walls
To-morrow I return with less renown,
With less desert, perhaps to purer bliss.
My Ariphilia calls her soldier home
To give her nuptial hand. My welcome guest
You I invite; the season rude of Mars
Is clos'd; new combats will the spring supply;
Th' autumnal remnant, winter hov'ring near,
Let us possess in peace. Then Timon spake:

Young chief, I praise thee; be a husband soon,
Be soon a parent; thou wilt bear thy shield
With constancy redoubled. If defence
Of our forefathers, sleeping in their tombs,
So oft unsheaths our swords, more strongly sure
Th' endearing, living objects of our love
Must animate the gen'rous, good, and brave.

I am unworthy of that praise, in smiles
Subjoins the Locrian; but thou know'st, my friend,
I have a brother, of a copious stream
The source, he, call'd to battle, shall maintain
Oïlean fame. Cleander, I am bound
To Lacedæmon; treasure there I left,
Which, well exchang'd for nature'd foodful gifts,
I would transport to Atalanté's shore,
Seat of that brother; who, Leonteus nam'd,
With brave companions there in refugh lies,
A future aid to Greece. A list'ning ear
Cleander yields, while Medon's lips unwind
The varied series of events befall'n
Himself and Timon, Amarantha fair,
The Carian queen, and Meliboeus chang'd
To Haliartus. By th' immortal gods
We will not sep'rate, fervent cries the youth;
My Ariphilia, who is wise and good,
Will entertain society like yours,
As Æthiopia, in Mæonian song,
Receives to pure and hospitable roofs
Her visitants from heav'n. Let youth advise,
Not inexperienc'd, but o'er land and sea
To early action train'd; retaining all
Your narrative heart-piercing, I perceive
Your wants, and feel impatience to befriend;
My lightest keel to Salamis shall bear
Thy orders, Timon, for the Delphian barks,
There left behind you, in Troezene's port
To join you straight. His counsel they accept.

The moon is rising, Salamis not far;
The will of Timon to his Delphian train
Is swiftly borne. The squadron next proceeds,
Passing Troezene by, whose gen'rous chief
Accompanies to shore his Locrian guest
At Cynosura. Spartan is this port,
He said; with fifty followers speed thy way;
Commit no treasure to the faithless winds;
By land return to find thy ready barks,
Well-fill'dfrom Troezen's stores. They part; he sails
To joyful welcome on his native shores.

When now, unveiling slowly, as she rolls,
Her brother's light the moon reflected full,
Auspicious period for connubial rites,
From Lacedæmon hast'ning, Medon gains
Troezene's ramparts; him Cleander chose
His paranymph to lead the bridal steps
Of Ariphilia. To Calauria's verge
He pass'd; beneath a nuptial chaplet gay
He wore his crisped hair; of purest white
A tunic wrapp'd his sinewy chest and loins,
A glowing mantle, new in Tyrian dye,
Fell down his shoulders. Up the shelving lawn
The high Neptunian structure he attains,
Where with her parents Ariphilia waits
Attir'd in roses like her hue, herself
As Flora fair, or Venus at her birth,
When from the ocean with unrifl'd charms
The virgin goddess sprung. Yet, far unlike
A maid sequester'd from the public eye,
She, early train'd in dignity and state,
In sanctity of manners to attract
A nation's rev'rence, to th' advancing chief
In sweet composure unreluctant yields
Her bridal hand, who down the vaulted isle,
Where echo joins the hymeneal song,
Conducts the fair; before the costly shrine,
Perfum'd with incense, and with garlands deck'd,
Presents her charms, and thus in manly pray'r:

My patron god, from Salamis I come,
One of thy naval sons, erecting there
Thy recent trophies; let me hence convey
With thy concurrent smile this precious prize,
Thy sacerdotal virgin. I return
To thee a pious votary, to her
A constant lover; on thy servants pour
Thy nuptial blessing. Yet, earth-shaking god,
Not bound in sloth thy warrior shall repose,
Nor languishing obscure in sweetest bliss
Desert thy glory. Soon as wintry storms
Thy nod controls, and vernal breezes court
The unfurling canvass, my unweary'd helm
Shall cleave thy floods, till each Barbarian coast
Acknowledge thy supremacy, and bow
To Grecian Neptune. Credulous the train,
Surrounding, in religious rapture see
The colossean image of their god
Smile on their hero, meriting the smiles
Of deities and mortals. Fortune adds
Her casual favour; on Cleander's mast
To perch, a pair of turtle doves she sends
From Neptune's temple. To his vessel crown'd
With Hymen's wreaths, bestrewn with herbs and flow'rs,
Exhaling fragrance, down the slope he guides
His Ariphilia, priestess now no more.
So Hermes, guardian of the Graces, leads
Their chief, Aglaia, o'er th' Olympian hall,
Warn'd by the muses, in preluding strains,
The dance on heav'n's bright pavement to begin,
And charm the festive gods. The flood repass'd,
They, as Troezenian institutes require,
The fane of young Hippolytus approach,
That victim pure to chastity, who left
Old Theseus childless. From the youthful heads
Of both their hair is sever'd, on his shrine
Their maiden off'ring laid, They next ascend
An awful structure, facred to the Fates,
There grateful own that goodness which decreed
Their happy union. To the Graces last
Their vows are paid, divinities benign,
Whom Ariphilia fervent thus invokes:

O goddesses, who all its sweetness shed
On human life! whate'er is beauteous here,
Illustrious, happy, to your favour owes
Its whole endearment; wanting you, our deeds
Are cold and joyless. In my husband's eye
Preserve me lovely, not in form alone,
But that supreme of graces in my sex,
Complacency of love. She pray'd; her look
Reveal'd, that heav'n would ratify her pray'r.

Now in her father's dwelling they remain
Till dusky ev'ning. On a bridal car,
Constructed rich, the paranymph then seats
The blooming fair; one side Cleander fills,
The other Medon, she between them rides,
By torches clear preceded. Lively sounds
The ceremonial music; soon they reach
The bridegroom's mansion; there a feast receives
Unnumber'd friends; the nuptial dance and song
Are now concluded. To her fragrant couch
A joyful mother lights the blushing bride;
Cleander follows; in the chamber shut,
He leaves the guests exulting to revive
Their song to Hymen, and renew the dance.

Three days succeeding were to gymnic feats
Devoted; Medon's warlike spear obtains
A second chaplet; Haliartus won
The wrestler's prize; to hurl the massy disk
None match'd the skill of Timon, still robust,
Tho' rev'rend threads of silver had begun
To streak his locks of sable. Southern gales
Now call on Medon's laden fleet to sail,
Ere winter frowns. With Timon at his side,
And Haliartus, in this gentle phrase
His noble host and hostess fair he greets:

May ev'ry joy kind wishes can devise,
Or language utter, hospitable pair,
Be yours for ever! may a num'rous race
In virtue grow by your parental care!-
With sev'n dear pledges of connubial love
I left a brother, watching my return
In Atalanté, small, exhausted isle,
Which needs my instant succour. Gen'rous friend,
To thee I trust my treasure, thou discharge
The claim of Troezen for th' abundant stores
Which load our vessels; for a time farewell,
The vernal sun will see our love renew'd,
And swords combin'd against Mardonius bold.

He said: the lovely Ariphilia weeps;
Cleander sighs, but speeds his parting guests.

End of the Tenth Book

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William Makepeace Thackeray

The Chronicle Of The Drum

Part I.

At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,
Whoever will choose to repair,
Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors
May haply fall in with old Pierre.
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern
He sits and he prates of old wars,
And moistens his pipe of tobacco
With a drink that is named after Mars.

The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,
And as long as his tap never fails,
Thus over his favorite liquor
Old Peter will tell his old tales.
Says he, 'In my life's ninety summers
Strange changes and chances I've seen,—
So here's to all gentlemen drummers
That ever have thump'd on a skin.

'Brought up in the art military
For four generations we are;
My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry,
The Huguenot lad of Navarre.
And as each man in life has his station
According as Fortune may fix,
While Conde was waving the baton,
My grandsire was trolling the sticks.

'Ah! those were the days for commanders!
What glories my grandfather won,
Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders
The fortunes of France had undone!
In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,—
What foeman resisted us then?
No; my grandsire was ever victorious,
My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne.

'He died: and our noble battalions
The jade fickle Fortune forsook;
And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance,
The victory lay with Malbrook.
The news it was brought to King Louis;
Corbleu! how his Majesty swore
When he heard they had taken my grandsire:
And twelve thousand gentlemen more.

'At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet
Were we posted, on plain or in trench:
Malbrook only need to attack it
And away from him scamper'd we French.
Cheer up! 'tis no use to be glum, boys,—
'Tis written, since fighting begun,
That sometimes we fight and we conquer,
And sometimes we fight and we run.

'To fight and to run was our fate:
Our fortune and fame had departed.
And so perish'd Louis the Great,—
Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted.
His coffin they pelted with mud,
His body they tried to lay hands on;
And so having buried King Louis
They loyally served his great-grandson.

'God save the beloved King Louis!
(For so he was nicknamed by some,)
And now came my father to do his
King's orders and beat on the drum.
My grandsire was dead, but his bones
Must have shaken I'm certain for joy,
To hear daddy drumming the English
From the meadows of famed Fontenoy.

'So well did he drum in that battle
That the enemy show'd us their backs;
Corbleu! it was pleasant to rattle
The sticks and to follow old Saxe!
We next had Soubise as a leader,
And as luck hath its changes and fits,
At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming,
'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz.

'And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic,
To drum for Montcalm and his men;
Morbleu! but it makes a man frantic
To think we were beaten again!
My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean,
My mother brought me on her neck,
And we came in the year fifty-seven
To guard the good town of Quebec.

'In the year fifty-nine came the Britons,—
Full well I remember the day,—
They knocked at our gates for admittance,
Their vessels were moor'd in our bay.
Says our general, 'Drive me yon redcoats
Away to the sea whence they come!'
So we marched against Wolfe and his bull-dogs,
We marched at the sound of the drum.

'I think I can see my poor mammy
With me in her hand as she waits,
And our regiment, slowly retreating,
Pours back through the citadel gates.
Dear mammy she looks in their faces,
And asks if her husband is come?
—He is lying all cold on the glacis,
And will never more beat on the drum.

'Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys,
He died like a soldier in glory;
Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys,
And now I'll commence my own story.
Once more did we cross the salt ocean,
We came in the year eighty-one;
And the wrongs of my father the drummer
Were avenged by the drummer his son.

'In Chesapeake Bay we were landed.
In vain strove the British to pass:
Rochambeau our armies commanded,
Our ships they were led by De Grasse.
Morbleu! How I rattled the drumsticks
The day we march'd into Yorktown;
Ten thousand of beef-eating British
Their weapons we caused to lay down.

'Then homewards returning victorious,
In peace to our country we came,
And were thanked for our glorious actions
By Louis Sixteenth of the name.
What drummer on earth could be prouder
Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles
To the lovely court ladies in powder,
And lappets, and long satin-tails?

'The Princes that day pass'd before us,
Our countrymen's glory and hope;
Monsieur, who was learned in Horace,
D'Artois, who could dance the tightrope.
One night we kept guard for the Queen
At her Majesty's opera-box,
While the King, that majestical monarch,
Sat filing at home at his locks.

'Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette,
And so smiling she look'd and so tender,
That our officers, privates, and drummers,
All vow'd they would die to defend her.
But she cared not for us honest fellows,
Who fought and who bled in her wars,
She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau,
And turned Lafayette out of doors.

'Ventrebleu! then I swore a great oath,
No more to such tyrants to kneel.
And so just to keep up my drumming,
One day I drumm'd down the Bastille.
Ho, landlord! a stoup of fresh wine.
Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try,
And drink to the year eighty-nine
And the glorious fourth of July!

'Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd
As onwards our patriots bore.
Our enemies were but a hundred,
And we twenty thousand or more.
They carried the news to King Louis.
He heard it as calm as you please,
And, like a majestical monarch,
Kept filing his locks and his keys.

'We show'd our republican courage,
We storm'd and we broke the great gate in,
And we murder'd the insolent governor
For daring to keep us a-waiting.
Lambesc and his squadrons stood by:
They never stirr'd finger or thumb.
The saucy aristocrats trembled
As they heard the republican drum.

'Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing:
The day of our vengeance was come!
Through scenes of what carnage and ruin
Did I beat on the patriot drum!
Let's drink to the famed tenth of August:
At midnight I beat the tattoo,
And woke up the Pikemen of Paris
To follow the bold Barbaroux.

'With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches
March'd onwards our dusty battalions,
And we girt the tall castle of Louis,
A million of tatterdemalions!
We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd
The walls of his heritage splendid.
Ah, shame on him, craven and coward,
That had not the heart to defend it!

'With the crown of his sires on his head,
His nobles and knights by his side,
At the foot of his ancestors' palace
'Twere easy, methinks, to have died.
But no: when we burst through his barriers,
Mid heaps of the dying and dead,
In vain through the chambers we sought him—
He had turn'd like a craven and fled.

. . . . .

'You all know the Place de la Concorde?
'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall.
Mid terraces, fountains, and statues,
There rises an obelisk tall.
There rises an obelisk tall,
All garnish'd and gilded the base is:
'Tis surely the gayest of all
Our beautiful city's gay places.

'Around it are gardens and flowers,
And the Cities of France on their thrones,
Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers
Sits watching this biggest of stones!
I love to go sit in the sun there,
The flowers and fountains to see,
And to think of the deeds that were done there
In the glorious year ninety-three.

''Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom;
And though neither marble nor gilding
Was used in those days to adorn
Our simple republican building,
Corbleu! but the MERE GUILLOTINE
Cared little for splendor or show,
So you gave her an axe and a beam,
And a plank and a basket or so.

'Awful, and proud, and erect,
Here sat our republican goddess.
Each morning her table we deck'd
With dainty aristocrats' bodies.
The people each day flocked around
As she sat at her meat and her wine:
'Twas always the use of our nation
To witness the sovereign dine.

'Young virgins with fair golden tresses,
Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests,
Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses,
Were splendidly served at her feasts.
Ventrebleu! but we pamper'd our ogress
With the best that our nation could bring,
And dainty she grew in her progress,
And called for the head of a King!

'She called for the blood of our King,
And straight from his prison we drew him;
And to her with shouting we led him,
And took him, and bound him, and slew him.
'The monarchs of Europe against me
Have plotted a godless alliance
I'll fling them the head of King Louis,'
She said, 'as my gage of defiance.'

'I see him as now, for a moment,
Away from his jailers he broke;
And stood at the foot of the scaffold,
And linger'd, and fain would have spoke.
'Ho,drummer! quick! silence yon Capet,'
Says Santerre, 'with a beat of your drum.'
Lustily then did I tap it,
And the son of Saint Louis was dumb.

Part II.

'The glorious days of September
Saw many aristocrats fall;
'Twas then that our pikes drunk the blood
In the beautiful breast of Lamballe.
Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady!
I seldom have looked on her like;
And I drumm'd for a gallant procession,
That marched with her head on a pike.

'Let's show the pale head to the Queen,
We said—she'll remember it well.
She looked from the bars of her prison,
And shriek'd as she saw it, and fell.
We set up a shout at her screaming,
We laugh'd at the fright she had shown
At the sight of the head of her minion;
How she'd tremble to part with her own.

'We had taken the head of King Capet,
We called for the blood of his wife;
Undaunted she came to the scaffold,
And bared her fair neck to the knife.
As she felt the foul fingers that touch'd her,
She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak:
She look'd with a royal disdain,
And died with a blush on her cheek!

''Twas thus that our country was saved;
So told us the safety committee!
But psha! I've the heart of a soldier,
All gentleness, mercy, and pity.
I loathed to assist at such deeds,
And my drum beat its loudest of tunes
As we offered to justice offended
The blood of the bloody tribunes.

'Away with such foul recollections!
No more of the axe and the block;
I saw the last fight of the sections,
As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Rock.
Young BONAPARTE led us that day;
When he sought the Italian frontier,
I follow'd my gallant young captain,
I follow'd him many a long year.

'We came to an army in rags,
Our general was but a boy
When we first saw the Austrian flags
Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy.
In the glorious year ninety-six,
We march'd to the banks of the Po;
I carried my drum and my sticks,
And we laid the proud Austrian low.

'In triumph we enter'd Milan,
We seized on the Mantuan keys;
The troops of the Emperor ran,
And the Pope he tell down on his knees.—
Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle,
And clubbing together their wealth,
They drank to the Army of Italy,
And General Bonaparte's health.

The drummer now bared his old breast,
And show'd us a plenty of scars,
Rude presents that Fortune had made him,
In fifty victorious wars.
'This came when I follow'd bold Kleber—
'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun;
And this from an Austrian sabre,
When the field of Marengo was won.

'My forehead has many deep furrows,
But this is the deepest of all:
A Brunswicker made it at Jena,
Beside the fair river of Saal.
This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it;
(God bless him!) it covers a blow;
I had it at Austerlitz fight,
As I beat on my drum in the snow.

''Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought;
But wherefore continue the story?
There's never a baby in France
But has heard of our chief and our glory,—
But has heard of our chief and our fame,
His sorrows and triumphs can tell,
How bravely Napoleon conquer'd,
How bravely and sadly he fell.

'It makes my old heart to beat higher,
To think of the deeds that I saw;
I follow'd bold Ney through the fire,
And charged at the side of Murat.'
And so did old Peter continue
His story of twenty brave years;
His audience follow'd with comments—
Rude comments of curses and tears.

He told how the Prussians in vain
Had died in defence of their land;
His audience laugh'd at the story,
And vow'd that their captain was grand!
He had fought the red English, he said,
In many a battle of Spain;
They cursed the red English, and prayed
To meet them and fight them again.

He told them how Russia was lost,
Had winter not driven them back;
And his company cursed the quick frost,
And doubly they cursed the Cossack.
He told how the stranger arrived;
They wept at the tale of disgrace:
And they long'd but for one battle more,
The stain of their shame to efface!

'Our country their hordes overrun,
We fled to the fields of Champagne,
And fought them, though twenty to one,
And beat them again and again!
Our warrior was conquer'd at last;
They bade him his crown to resign;
To fate and his country he yielded
The rights of himself and his line.

'He came, and among us he stood,
Around him we press'd in a throng:
We could not regard him for weeping,
Who had led us and loved us so long.
'I have led you for twenty long years,'
Napoleon said, ere he went
'Wherever was honor I found you,
And with you, my sons, am content!

''Though Europe against me was arm'd,
Your chiefs and my people are true;
I still might have struggled with fortune,
And baffled all Europe with you.

''But France would have suffer'd the while,
'Tis best that I suffer alone;
I go to my place of exile,
To write of the deeds we have done.

''Be true to the king that they give you,
We may not embrace ere we part;
But, General, reach me your hand,
And press me, I pray, to your heart.'

'He called for our battle standard;
One kiss to the eagle he gave.
'Dear eagle!' he said, 'may this kiss
Long sound in the hearts of the brave!'
'Twas thus that Napoleon left us;
Our people were weeping and mute,
As he pass'd through the lines of his guard,
And our drums beat the notes of salute.

. . . . .

'I look'd when the drumming was o'er,
I look'd, but our hero was gone;
We were destined to see him once more,
When we fought on the Mount of St. John.
The Emperor rode through our files;
'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn;
The lines of our warriors for miles
Stretch'd wide through the Waterloo corn.

'In thousands we stood on the plain,
The red-coats were crowning the height;
'Go scatter yon English,' he said;
'We'll sup, lads, at Brussels tonight.'
We answered his voice with a shout;
Our eagles were bright in the sun;
Our drums and our cannon spoke out,
And the thundering battle begun.

'One charge to another succeeds,
Like waves that a hurricane bears;
All day do our galloping steeds
Dash fierce on the enemy's squares.
At noon we began the fell onset:
We charged up the Englishman's hill;
And madly we charged it at sunset—
His banners were floating there still.

'—Go to! I will tell you no more;
You know how the battle was lost.
Ho! fetch me a beaker of wine,
And, comrades, I'll give you a toast.
I'll give you a curse on all traitors,
Who plotted our Emperor's ruin;
And a curse on those red-coated English,
Whose bayonets help'd our undoing.

'A curse on those British assassins,
Who order'd the slaughter of Ney;
A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured
The life of our hero away.
A curse on all Russians—I hate them—
On all Prussian and Austrian fry;
And oh! but I pray we may meet them,
And fight them again ere I die.'

'Twas thus old Peter did conclude
His chronicle with curses fit.
He spoke the tale in accents rude,
In ruder verse I copied it.

Perhaps the tale a moral bears,
(All tales in time to this must come,)
The story of two hundred years
Writ on the parchment of a drum.

What Peter told with drum and stick,
Is endless theme for poet's pen:
Is found in endless quartos thick,
Enormous books by learned men.

And ever since historian writ,
And ever since a bard could sing,
Doth each exalt with all his wit
The noble art of murdering.

We love to read the glorious page,
How bold Achilles kill'd his foe:
And Turnus, fell'd by Trojans' rage,
Went howling to the shades below.

How Godfrey led his red-cross knights,
How mad Orlando slash'd and slew;
There's not a single bard that writes
But doth the glorious theme renew.

And while, in fashion picturesque,
The poet rhymes of blood and blows,
The grave historian at his desk
Describes the same in classic prose.

Go read the works of Reverend Cox,
You'll duly see recorded there
The history of the self-same knocks
Here roughly sung by Drummer Pierre.

Of battles fierce and warriors big,
He writes in phrases dull and slow,
And waves his cauliflower wig,
And shouts 'Saint George for Marlborow!'

Take Doctor Southey from the shelf,
An LL. D,—a peaceful man;
Good Lord, how doth he plume himself
Because we beat the Corsican!

From first to last his page is filled
With stirring tales how blows were struck.
He shows how we the Frenchmen kill'd,
And praises God for our good luck.

Some hints, 'tis true, of politics
The doctors give and statesman's art:
Pierre only bangs his drum and sticks,
And understands the bloody part.

He cares not what the cause may be,
He is not nice for wrong and right;
But show him where's the enemy,
He only asks to drum and fight.

They bid him fight,—perhaps he wins.
And when he tells the story o'er,
The honest savage brags and grins,
And only longs to fight once more.

But luck may change, and valor fail,
Our drummer, Peter, meet reverse,
And with a moral points his tale—
The end of all such tales—a curse.

Last year, my love, it was my hap
Behind a grenadier to be,
And, but he wore a hairy cap,
No taller man, methinks, than me.

Prince Albert and the Queen, God wot,
(Be blessings on the glorious pair!)
Before us passed, I saw them not,
I only saw a cap of hair.

Your orthodox historian puts
In foremost rank the soldier thus,
The red-coat bully in his boots,
That hides the march of men from us.

He puts him there in foremost rank,
You wonder at his cap of hair:
You hear his sabre's cursed clank,
His spurs are jingling everywhere.

Go to! I hate him and his trade:
Who bade us so to cringe and bend,
And all God's peaceful people made
To such as him subservient?

Tell me what find we to admire
In epaulets and scarlet coats.
In men, because they load and fire,
And know the art of cutting throats?

. . . . .

Ah, gentle, tender lady mine!
The winter wind blows cold and shrill,
Come, fill me one more glass of wine,
And give the silly fools their will.

And what care we for war and wrack,
How kings and heroes rise and fall;
Look yonder,* in his coffin black,
There lies the greatest of them all!

To pluck him down, and keep him up,
Died many million human souls;
'Tis twelve o'clock, and time to sup,
Bid Mary heap the fire with coals.

He captured many thousand guns;
He wrote 'The Great' before his name;
And dying, only left his sons
The recollection of his shame.

Though more than half the world was his,
He died without a rood his own;
And borrowed from his enemies
Six foot of ground to lie upon.

He fought a thousand glorious wars,
And more than half the world was his,
And somewhere now, in yonder stars,
Can tell, mayhap, what greatness is.

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The sanctity of the chastity

Petrol is the most refined crude oil.
Chastity is the sanctified woman’s lust.
Both are highly inflammable products.
They both entail a constant vigilance
Against catching fire from the heat outside.
They spend themselves through evaporation
And through monotony mechanism.
Chastity exists under surveillance
And as such it must have no sanctity.

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That our love must be lost (in answer to N. P. van Wyk Louw)

That our love must be lost,
at a time will have to end
that there is an end to all things,
is something that I find sorrowful and amazing
that no one can stop the coming of the night,
when sometimes I see your sunny glances
tags at my mind as I do know
that nothing, nobody can stop death
when at times I hold you tenderly
as if love can last eternally.

[Reference: "Dat alle liefde" ("That all love") by N. P. van Wyk Louw.]

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John Keats

Sonnet. If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'd

If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd
By ear industrious, and attention meet:
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.

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John Keats

If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'd

If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd,
Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd
By ear industrious, and attention meet:
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
She will be bound with garlands of her own.

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The art of Marriage

The art of Marriage

A good marriage must be created
In marriage the little things are the big things

It is never being too old to hold hands

It is remembering to say
I love you
At least once a day

It is never going to sleep angry

It is having a mutual sense of values and common objectives

It is standing together facing the world

It is forming circle of love that gathers in whole family

It is speaking words of appreciation and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways.

It is having the capacity to forgive and forget

It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow

It is not only marrying the right person, it is being the right partner

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Fight For Defend The Rights Of All Humanity?

'I will' determination affirmation of character
'I will' measure of moral commitment weigh soul
'I will' destiny courage which must face dangers

What courage who dares defy injustice corruption evil?
Who dares plant explosive comments risk why suggestions?
Who dares risk life ever risked at sacrifice personal peril?

Politics to please all is paradox mission impossible?
There are those who love truth hate truth passionate fiercely?
'I am offended by that' a trivial attention seeking sport?

Is it a personal ego statement which belittles serious issues?
Politicians televised seek to entertain win votes with wise cracks?
Who will actually fight for defend the rights of all humanity?

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Our Nation

Does it really matter what your religion is;
Or the color of your skin?
What church you attend on sunday,
or the neighborhood you live in?

Is the car you drive really important?
Does it make the man or woman inside?
Does any thing in this world truely matter?
Can you take it to the other side?

Something is wrong with our nation today,
we seem to have lost all common sense.
We no longer stand united,
we use discrimination as our defense.

We try to exhault our selves higher,
then everyone else we see;
We try to prove we are better inside,
but our selves we can not decieve.

Let us put an end to the hatred,
lets' put discrimination in the past;
Let us restore our nation to greatness,
with a greatness that will surely last.

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Mr Blue

Winter sounds the crying
Like an old man slowly dying
And the only sound, the wind that fills the trees
Even colder comes the moon
And though it never seems too soon
A sudden stillness as the rainfall starts to freeze
Im mr blue
Im here to stay with you
And no matter what you do
When youre lonely - Ill be lonely too
A young girl, she is shaded
Bears the scars that never faded
Of the baby that was born on christmas day
While the heavens sing their song
A childs life is never long
cos the food supplies will only last a day
(chorus repeat)
Patriot emotion, is the cause of the commotion
After all theres really no-one here to blame
Soldiers taking orders, cos we must defend the borders
Of our nation (and the other sides the same)
(chorus repeat)
Ill come to you at night
When all the world is sleeping tight
And lie beside you, till the early morning dew
You cant hear me, you cant see
But you can feel me when you read
The folded letter she left addressed to you
(chorus repeat)

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Mr Blue

Winter sounds the crying
Like an old man slowly dying
And the only sound, the wind that fills the trees
Even colder comes the moon
And though it never seems too soon
A sudden stillness as the rainfall starts to freeze
Im mr blue
Im here to stay with you
And no matter what you do
When youre lonely - Ill be lonely too
A young girl, she is shaded
Bears the scars that never faded
Of the baby that was born on christmas day
While the heavens sing their song
A childs life is never long
cos the food supplies will only last a day
(chorus repeat)
Patriot emotion, is the cause of the commotion
After all theres really no-one here to blame
Soldiers taking orders, cos we must defend the borders
Of our nation (and the other sides the same)
(chorus repeat)
Ill come to you at night
When all the world is sleeping tight
And lie beside you, till the early morning dew
You cant hear me, you cant see
But you can feel me when you read
The folded letter she left addressed to you
(chorus repeat)

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This Must Be The Place I Waited Years To Leave

(everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody jump to attention...)
Each morning after sunblest
Feel the benefit, mental arithmetic
I waited by the staffroom
In time for benediction
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
To our voices nobodys listening
We shiver in the rain by the touchline
Then a coach ride to the station
My lord, the carriage awaiteth!
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
This must be the place I waited years to leave
And how
How long?
Im listening to the words I thought Id never hear again
A litany of saints and other ordinary men
Kneeling on the parquet
Whatever has gone wrong?
The fear and feeling hopelessness
I dont want to belong
I dreamt I was back in uniform
And a candidate for examination
History, someone had blundered
And a voice rapped knuckle under!
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
This must be the place I waited years to leave
And how
And how
How long?
(trebuet nash narod odnogo)
[our people demand only...]

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A look at the state of education in our society today or The New 3 R's Of TodayLearning, Education, and School

Learning, Education, and School

Many years ago, education was much simpler, or so it seemed!
You had the Three R’s, a red brick school house, and it was clean!
Then we added courses like Latin and Greek- of how awful- hard to speak,
Never fear, let us add courses that will help art, shop and Home Ec- for something to eat.

That’s right, food for thought,
After all isn’t that is what school is all about.
For forty plus years we followed that rule,
We cooked up a great education until finally in the end we listened to the political correctness fools

We discarded the ingredients that made our school great only to add new programs and policies which promote racism and hate..
What happened to our vocational programs, places where we taught our students trades,
What happened to learning work as part of the dignity of man?
What happened to learning is easy to see, instead of learning correctly,
We are learning to fail because we are failing to read,
Sstudents are porous and need to be reached.

Essays, standard tests, and computer programs are great, but can they replace touch of loving parents?
Listen to me, just a cry in the dark, it’s not our schools that are falling apart.
We have lost our direction and maybe our focus.

For you see it not your test score that count one, two, and three
It simply must be the students who learn their A, B, and C’s
They apply what they learn, not with paper and pen,
but with hands, hearts, and mind and souls.
So we can all learn to live together happily once and again.

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Our Leaders Are Not Our Nation

Toast tyranny a wager at the checkmark in the box
With cryola ideology simpatico to your thoughts
Compromise your belief with a representative of choice
In a year they'll impeach a bipartisan platform

When the tally is in it will make your head spin
Crush your faith to a pulp, Thomas Paines be engulfed
Your realities a minority dog food for the majority
So commune to the bars in your fishbowls for debating

For our leaders are not our nations
They strip mine the facts for elation
Our leaders are not our nation
They all toast their own egos fornication

Take a page out from Hinkley, apply a gun to the vote
Register complains sitting outside of Sussex drive
Watch out for the cameras and the guards in the cars
Don't fault a Fawkes pass if you want the blues loose

How many years since the Accords of Meech lake
Repatriate out country into the piece of a steak
Found in pockets of a restaurant, goodbye equality
Now go and play some Hockey, who cares about Gomery

They double talk for fun and expect us to bark
Anytime their occurs a sudden mishap
Meanwhile we suffer by corporation's power
Becoming state junkies for good deals at Wal-Mart

But our leaders are not our nation
We give them their place and station
Our leaders are not our nation
Execute them from the sovereign equation

If green peace were Fenians, Fort McMurray would burn
Learn from the Arabs and make a splash in the spring
Protest your unrest and leave no stone unturned
Or else you face the Ides of a Ceaser on the march

So if you are a patriot go fight for what is right
Don't dance talk in circles when I see you fire blanks
A citizens a champion for their freedom far and wide
Our leaders are not our nation they are servants to be tied

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The Sanctity of Matrimony

marriage lives only in our hearts, and the bond of love is witness
by the faithful comes in, when there is an honest communion of
unity amongst the bride and the groom, who promise and commit
themselves in their hearts and words, to live beyond anything else
that comes in their path to perfection

the reception, the grandiose party, as well the beautiful dresses
wore, the precious gifts offered and everything that adds any
celebration marvelous, are just a passing scene in our window
of the soul, the eyes that captured all the memories in our midst

hold on the little sweet vanity of Eden's garden, and even beauty
is not a guarantee of a successful marriage, for giving yourself is
not like chasing with the wind

like candles melted in our pupil's eyes in the middle of snow,
pouring water in a bucket full of dust, and when thirst comes in
your needs, suck all the spillage, a residual of an absorbent sand,
lift by the heating sun, in a distance land, where you want to hand
in the purest life you want

marriage is not just a vessel to be filled, a mat that you spread if
only you want to lid, nor a lamp to be filled off and when it is gone,
you have to make another one, as you gather all what you know
about life, live and hold as you told, for in every moment life has
to be unfold

hand all your plan, to God whose engineer and guidance is
beyond compare, for life we have to take is something we
have to make, and only you can do, the chances that you can
take, the master plan of the kingdom of God

live and pray, let love shine the mystery of the passion of the heart
open what comes next, for every move is of mixed, as the candle
lighted with trust its perfume smell make it last, and the wax leaves
to cast

and when the hour comes, when everything will be recalled,
in the Father's house we will be stored, there you stand to the
one you say I can, the 'yes' and the I 'do', the heart that you
cherish, until beyond death do us part

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The Pure Norwegian Flag

Tri-colored flag, and pure,
Thou art our hard-fought cause secure;
Thor's hammer-mark of might
Thou bearest blue in Christian white,
And all our hearts' red blood
To thee streams its full flood.

Thou liftest us high when life's sternest,
Exultant, thou oceanward turnest;
Thy colors of freedom are earnest
That spirit and body shall never know dearth.-
Fare forth o'er the earth!

'The pure flag is but pure folly,'
You 'wise' men maintain for true.
But the flag is the truth poetic,
The folly is found in you.
In poetry upward soaring,
The nation's immortal soul
With hands invisible carries
The flag toward the future goal.
That soul's every toil and trial,
That soul's every triumph sublime,
Are sounding in songs immortal,-
To their music the flag beats time.
We bear it along surrounded
By mem'ry's melodious choir,
By mild and whispering voices,
By will and stormy desire.
It gives not to others guidance,
Can not a Swedish word say;
It never can flaunt allurement:-
Clear the foreign colors away!

The sins and deceits of our nation
Possess in the flag no right;
The flag is the high ideal
In honor's immortal light.
The best of our past achievements,
The best of our present prayers,
It takes in its folds from the fathers
And bears to the sons and heirs;
Bears it all pure and artless,
By tokens that tempt us unmarred,
Is for our will's young manhood
Leader as well as guard.

They say: 'As by rings of betrothal
We are by the flag affied!'
But Norway is
no one's promised bride.
She shares her abode with no one,
Her bed and her board to none yields,
Her will is her worthy bridegroom,
Herself rules her sea, her fields.
Our brother to eastward honors
This independence of youth.

knows well that by it only
Our wreath can be won in truth.
When we from the flag are taking
His colors,
knows 't is no whim,
But merely because we are holding
Our honor higher than him.
And none who himself has honor
Will seek him a different friend;
Our life we can for him offer,
But naught of our flag can lend.

Respectful I seek a hearing,
With trust in your temper sane,
And plead now our cause before you
In words that are calm and plain:

If, Sweden,
were the smaller,
Were young your freedom's renown,
flag a mark of union
That pressed you still farther down
By saying that you, as little,
Were set at the greater's board
(For this is the mark's real meaning,
By no one on earth ignored),
Yes, if it were you,-and your freedom
Not hallowed by age, but young,
And a century's want and weakness
Still heavy in memory hung,
The soul of your nation harrowed
By old injustice and need,
By luckless labor and longing,
-And did you its meaning heed;
Yes, if it were you, whose duty
To teach your people were tried,
To honor their new-born freedom,
To find in their flag their guide:
Would longer you suffer it sundered,
Leave foreign a single field?
Would you not claim it unplundered,
Your independence to shield?
Would not to yourself you say then:
'If one has high lineage long,
If greater his colors' glory,
The more alluring his song.
Oh, tempt not him who from trouble
Is rising with new found might;
With pure marks direct him, rather,
To honor's exalted height.'

would speak, elder hero,
home abode;
Your wont is the way of honor,
You fare on the forward road.
From eighteen hundred and fourteen,
And down to the latest day,
So oft for our independence
We stood like the stag at bay,
Brave men have risen among you,
And scorning the strife that swelled
Have talked for our cause high-minded,
Like Torgny to them of eld.


You say, it is 'knightly duty,'
The fight for the flag to share,-
I hold you full high in honor,
is our own affair!
For just because we encounter
The storm-blasts of slander stark,
It's 'knightly duty' to free now
The flag from the marring mark.
The 'parity' that mark preaches
Flies false over all the seas;
A pan-Scandinavian Sweden
Can never our nation please.
From 'knightly duty' the smaller
Must say: I am not a part;
The mark of my freedom and honor
Is whole for my mind and heart.
From 'knightly duty' the greater
Must say: A falsehood's fair sign
Can give me no special honor,
No longer shall it be mine.
For both it is 'knightly duty,'
With flags that are pure, to be
A warring world's bright example
Of peoples at peace, proud and free.

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